


winter's end

by thewordweaver



Series: there was no saving you. [4]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 01:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8470201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewordweaver/pseuds/thewordweaver
Summary: I'm here, I'm here, I'm here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> if you know where the title and story header comes from you're a cool bean B)
> 
> also I'm starting to think people may get the idea that Seven's my fave  
> he's not; Jumin is lmao  
> Seven is just #relatable what with his crippling depression and his ability to mask it most of the time :')
> 
> takes place after [epilogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8414041)

## of sacrifice and snow

 

The first thing she notices as she flicks on the foyer light is the utter _mess_ that accumulates in every corner of the living room. Sighing, she abandons her luggage at the door, beginning the monumental task of cleaning up after him.

He’s relapsing again.

She only tidies up the vicinity around her for now—the daunting thought of everything else she’d have to get to today haunting the back of her mind—determined to unearth the living corpse she knows is buried under countless bedsheets. “Saeyoung,” she calls gently, as though he’s a skittish feline, ready to bolt at even the slightest raise of a voice. “My love, it’s noon. I know you have an assignment to complete before the day is over.” Padding over to the queen-sized bed, she carefully peels back the covers, meeting resistance upon grabbing the last layer. Her slight tug earns a groan of complaint from underneath the thick duvet.

“… S’cold,” she hears, long red hair shifting on the pillow. “Later.” She clicks her tongue at this, leaning over and placing a soft kiss to his left hand, right onto the cold silver band on his ring finger.

“No, no. We’ll start now.” With his grip on the sheet slackened from her unexpected kiss, she yanks it down, exposing him to the air… and with it, an odor she had anticipated. This had happened every time. “Right after we throw you in the shower.” Despite the smell, she chortles, pushing overgrown strands away from his face after he turns to lie on his back to face her.

She offers an empathetic smile when she sees his flushed face and bloodshot eyes. “C’mon, my love. Let’s get you to the shower.”

It’s a bit of a tedious affair, pulling him out of bed and pushing him into the bathroom. Once he manages to undress himself and shower on his own, she gathers his clothes and sheets strewn about the room, hustling to the laundry room. ‘ _Well this’ll take a few cycles_ ,’ she thinks as she stares at the giant pile she’s gathered into the cramped space.

Once she hears the shower turn off, she abandons the almost-insurmountable task for now. It’s an established fact by now that she never knocks before stepping into the bathroom, knowing it would have been pointless to anyhow. Following the same song and dance before this one, he remains in the shower, distorted form curled up in a corner against the tile wall. She frowns, retrieving a towel from the bathroom closet and sniffing it for quality assurance before opening the shower door. “Let’s go, my Raggedy Ann.”

She towels him off from bottom to top, pressing kisses to his cheekbones every so often after reaching his hair. Once dried enough, she steps back to stare at him for a moment, pulling out the hair tie from her ponytail and using it to tie his hair back. “A little better now? Yeah? Good.” She grins when he smiles, the left corner of his mouth lifting just that little bit. “You can dress yourself, yeah? And I can trust you to get to work right after?” She tilts her head in question, rewarding him with crinkled eyes and a light kiss to his lips when he nods.

She’s three-fourths of the way through her cleaning mission when she hears sniffles from the only bedroom in the house, immediately letting the broom clatter to the floor. Her socked feet carry her to the back of his computer chair, pulling it back and stepping in front of him. “Hey, hey.” She leans over to place his face between her palms as she kisses away his tears, mumbling with her forehead pressed to his.

“Forgive yourself, forgive yourself, forgive yourself.”

 

* * *

 

Even with three years gone by, she can still observe the little ways in which Saeran’s death affects him to this day.

She sees it in the way he opens the cupboard to stare longingly at a lonely mug marked with a teal ‘S’ when making coffee.

She sees it in the way he gazes out of the kitchen window at red leaves falling from the trees with a pained familiarity.

She sees it in the way she finds him touching his computer screen with snapshots of the past when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Though each of these things concern her—self-destructive actions that pick at wounds trying to heal—what worries her the most is the way in which he appears doing them. There’s a broken, shattered look on his face, almost as though Saeran had died just the day before.

He hasn’t moved on, nor is he trying to. It’s her real reason for her unannounced move-in, their four-year engagement being used as just an excuse.

She coaxes him to the couch one night as the first snow falls outside. “Your assignment doesn’t have to be completed until the end of this week, right? Come, relax a little.” He lets himself be pulled along, holding tight to the smaller hand in his. “Any movies in mind?”

He shakes his head no. “I’ll let you choose. This was your idea, so I’ll let you have the honors.” He raises her hand to his lips, kissing the back of each finger individually and grinning when she giggles.

They sit cozy on the couch, her head on his shoulder and his head atop hers as they snuggle underneath the blanket. Her hand snakes out from underneath their bundle of warmth to reach for the remote, scrolling through the guide list and basing her selection on the name of the movie.

“Ever seen _Charlie St. Cloud_?”

“Nope.” Hitting the center SELECT button, she curls up closer to him.

As soon as they’re a fourth of the way into the movie, she begins to regret her decision. She winces, glancing over at her fiance to gauge his reaction, seeing his eyes are glassy, but nothing else. She reaches for the remote again to stop the movie, but he merely eclipses her hand with his own, shaking his head.

It isn’t until the movie ends that she feels Saeyoung’s body tremble before the paper-thin dam breaks, breathing heavily as he bawls. “I… I s-see Saeran somet-times. But in... my d-dreams,” he stammers and chokes, hands shielding his face from her. “Is he t-telling me… th-that he’s hap-py? That... he’s okay? That he’s a-at peace? I w-want him... b-back. I... w-want him back. I-It’s all... my... f-fault.”

She exhales the air in her lungs, heart filled with guilt, shifting so that her arms embrace his shoulders. Her right arm comes up to his shortened hair, stroking it gingerly as she pushes air through her teeth, voice a soothing susurration.

“You’re alright, you’re alright, you’re alright.”

 

* * *

 

The pair is snowed in from a heavy snowfall when they tumble into bed.

She’s on top of him, lips meeting and tongue prying, arms on either side of his head. His hands skim whatever part of her is exposed, which at the moment, isn’t much.

Within seconds, he remedies that, fingers roaming the valley of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the apex of her thighs. She shivers, shudders, cold hands on burning skin, itching for her own fix by returning the favour.

No inch of her goes ignored; he’s tasting, touching, tracing; every sensation committing to memory; long, long, _too long_ since he’s felt her, had her, _loved her_.

When she sinks down onto him, he’s not sure whose moan he hears first.

Their movements are hard, fast, urgent, hurried, an attempt to satiate a need unfulfilled in years. She cries his name, a mantra from her lips; he responds in kind, her name a prayer of pleasure as he kisses her neck.

Then, she peaks from his thrusts, from his touch, a dizzying spiral she descends down afterward; a cycle that repeats a number of times she cannot count before he joins her, arms circled tight around her waist, hips keen as he rasps her name with every laboured breath.

She lies down atop his chest in the aftermath, stroking blushed skin and matching hair. When she lifts her head, he returns her gaze and she smiles, a tenderness in her eyes. “I love you, I love you, I lo—”

And he breaks.

He finds himself with his face tucked into her neck, tears dampening sweaty skin, a hand rubbing his back. He tries to speak through his sobs, but she merely shakes her head, her nose in his hair as she closes her eyes before murmuring.

“We’re okay, you’re okay, _it’s okay_.”

 

* * *

 

Before they know it, the anniversary of Saeran’s death reaches them; December 20th is their day of solemnity. In silence, they drive out to the late twin’s grave, tracking heavy boots and layered bodies through an inch of snow. Though the flowers will not last long, they bring a bouquet of white lilies and baby’s breath, saying nothing as both read the inscription they’ve seen twelve times now.

They stop by three times a year: the day of his funeral, the day of his death, and his birthday. Saeyoung always skips out on his birthday celebrations.

When they return home, he doesn’t stop to pause at the doorway like she does, making a beeline to their bedroom. By the time she’s shed her coat and damp boots, she finds that the door is locked, a lack of noise coming from the room. She sighs, pressing her ear to the door, lips pursing with pity after straining to hear the sniffling on the other side.

She leaves him be for a few hours, thankful that her phone is mostly charged as she settles onto the couch. She makes dinner once the sun begins to set, calling her fiance once the table is prepped, food hot and ready.

But he doesn’t answer.

She grunts in frustration as she combs her fingers through her hair, pulling a hairpin out of the bangs she had pushed back and biting off the rubber end. She straightens it out when she reaches the door, using it to pick the lock, throwing the door open and marching to the bed.

Enough is enough.

“ _Saeyoung_ ,” she calls sharply, ignoring the scattered clothes and tossed boots for now. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose once the covers had been ripped away from him, seeing the discarded bags of Honey Buddha and cans of PHD Pepper on the bed. “No more. No more of this. No more relapsing.”

“He died four years ago today! How the hell else am I _supposed_ to feel!?” he retorts just as sharply, a snarl on his face despite saltwater-stained cheeks. “How much longer can I live on without him!? Why couldn’t I have died instead!?” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, a cry of anguish erupting from his throat.

“Saeyoung, you can’t keep destroying yourself like this anymore!” She straddles him, pulling his arms away from his face and pinning them down on either side of his head. “Look at me, my love. Look.” Slowly, his eyelids lift, golden eyes reflected in her stare. “You may not have had him for much longer after you found him again, but didn’t you two make the most of it? Remember the first Halloween after? And Christmas? Let me be the first to remind you that _you_ postponed our wedding just to spend more time with him.” When he shows signs of calming down, she offers the smallest of smiles and a kiss to his forehead.

“You did all you could in the time you had left. And regardless of what you wish you could’ve said or done, it’s over now. It’s in the past. Forgive yourself for what happened, because you don’t need to worry about if he would. He already has, four years ago. Now you have to let him go.”

The tremors she feels underneath her this time are ones of release, of emotions long bottled. Though there are many to sort through, she knows his process of letting go has finally begun; she allows him to bring his hands to his face once again. She leans down to cradle his head, holding to him tightly as she whispers in his ear.

“Move on, move on, move on.”

 

* * *

 

The snow begins to melt with the first signs of spring as they walk along the paved pathway; their fingers are laced together as they bump into each other with each sway. She laughs continuously at the puns he shares; he grins as he listens to such a beautiful sound. When he sees the cherry blossoms off in the distance, he lets go of her hand, running ahead. She pouts in disapproval, slowing her pace to a stop as she puts her hands on her hips to watch him. The expression doesn’t last.

She snorts as he tries to catch the petals that fall, failing miserably as he now takes on the pout she had had before. He shakes his head as he gives up with a shrug, turning to face her again while a smile returns to his face. “It’s too hard… can I just catch you instead?” His teeth peek out from under his lips as he chortles, arms stretched wide just for her.

She runs with her arms splayed from her sides, wrapping them around his neck after she jumps into his reach. Their laughs mingle as he twirls her, his hug still tight even when her feet finally touch the ground. They sway each other softly, a gentle lilt to her voice as she speaks.

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here."

**Author's Note:**

> to get back into writing more often I'm considering doing [requests](http://thewordweaver.tumblr.com/reqreq) so if you've got something you'd like to see feel free to send it in and I might write it
> 
> I've never seen Charlie St. Cloud btw; I just looked up what movies had a brother die in it and the summary of that one seemed good enough so... lmao
> 
> also lbr there's no way Saeran being pumped full of drugs for six years didn't totally destroy his organs despite the hospital "clearing" his system of them  
> itsjustnotrealistic.gif
> 
>  
> 
> [personal twitter](http://www.twitter.com/lesimperatrices)  
> 


End file.
